What No One Told Me About Moving to Portland

When Mario and I moved to Portland, I thought the hard part would be packing. I was wrong. The hard part was figuring out an entirely new city while living out of boxes I had meticulously labeled and organized. And when I say organized, I mean organized.

I numbered every box. I kept a master list of what was in each one. I color coded everything. Blue for bedroom. White with mustaches for kitchen. Orange for bathroom. There may have been a system that only I understood, but it was a very good system.

None of it mattered.

We had just left a three-bedroom, 1,400-square-foot house in California and landed in a one-bedroom apartment in Portland's Central Eastside. Every box ended up stacked somewhere in that apartment, and suddenly my carefully crafted organization system felt a lot less important than finding a place to sit.

That was the first thing nobody told me.

The apartment was in the Linden Building on Burnside, and honestly, it turned out to be a pretty great place to start. We could see the iconic, rotating Franz Bread from our window, and on weekends, we could smell the cinnamon bread baking. We could walk to Voodoo Doughnut. We could wander the city without knowing exactly where we were going.

For two people trying to learn a new city, it was the perfect landing spot, but I had a lot to learn.

The Bridges

I did not understand Portland's bridges. I grew up in California. If you accidentally got on the wrong road, you simply got off at the next exit. Portland's bridges do not operate with that level of forgiveness. Once you're on one, you're committed.

I remember accidentally ending up on the Hawthorne Bridge one afternoon. There were many lanes, and you can't change lanes once you get to a certain point. If you know what I mean, you know. I did not. People seemed to know exactly where they were going. I did not. Before I knew it, I was heading into downtown Portland, completely confused by the one-way streets and trying to figure out how to get back to the east side. I called Mario in a panic.

Now it's a funny story we laugh about. In the moment, I was far from laughing.

The Sun

I had visited Portland several times before moving here. Somehow, every visit happened during the winter. I knew people went outside when it rained. I knew snow didn't stop anyone. What I did not understand was what happens when the sun finally shows up: Portlanders absolutely lose their minds.

And I mean that in the best possible way.

The first warm day arrives and suddenly every patio is full. People appear with dogs, books, friends, snacks, and beverages. It feels like the entire city collectively decides that whatever they were doing indoors can wait until October.

Now I get it.

There are few things better than a sunny Portland afternoon.

The Neighborhood Question

This is the part I think about most now. Before we moved, I was convinced I wanted to live in Southeast Portland. My friend Mary lived there. I loved the neighborhood. Division Street felt different then than it does now, but I loved it. New Seasons was nearby. There was a little bar called Night Light that Mario and I loved. It felt like the Portland I had fallen in love with during visits.

I also thought about the Pearl. I've always loved industrial architecture. Big windows. Exposed beams. Converted warehouses. If you'd asked me where I thought we'd end up, I probably would have guessed one of those two neighborhoods.

And I would have been completely wrong.

We ended up in the Alphabet District.

If you've never spent much time here, it's a wonderful mix of walkability, old buildings, neighborhood businesses, and people who genuinely know each other. Instead of industrial buildings, there are historic ones. Instead of the house I thought I wanted, we bought a condo in a building that was built in 1925.

I honestly thought I wanted a house. That was the plan. A yard. Extra bedrooms. Space for visitors.

Instead, we bought a condo. And it turns out I love condo living.

I love being able to walk to coffee shops and restaurants. I love living in a historic building. I love knowing my neighbors. Some of my closest friendships in Portland started because we happened to live in the same building. (Shout out to Vicki!)

If you'd asked me before the move what my future looked like, I would have confidently given you the wrong answer.

What Nobody Really Tells You

Moving to a new city is strange because you're making decisions before you have enough information. You choose neighborhoods you've only visited. You imagine what your life will look like. You try to predict what will make you happy. Sometimes you're right. Sometimes you're not.

Fourteen years later, Mario and I are genuinely happy here. I have a hard time imagining us living anywhere else. And if I could go back and give myself one piece of advice, it would be this:

Give yourself time before deciding where you want to land.

Walk around.

Get coffee in different neighborhoods.

Pay attention to how places feel on an ordinary Tuesday.

The right neighborhood is not always the one you think you want.

Sometimes the place that feels like home surprises you.

Fourteen years later, I still love wandering into neighborhoods I don't know well. That's probably the biggest thing Portland taught me. Some of the best parts of a city are the ones you weren't looking for.

If you're thinking about moving to Portland and want to talk about neighborhoods, condos, old houses, walkability, or yes, even the bridges, I'd love to help.